


Fall Into Me

by viagiordano



Series: Snowfall [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Adult Themes, F/F, Major character death - Freeform, Post Series, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viagiordano/pseuds/viagiordano
Summary: After Paris, Eve gets a second chance to mend what she broke, from spring to winter.





	Fall Into Me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Alev Lenz.  
> This was my first time writing this pairing, and may I just say: Wow. Killing Eve is amazing, and Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a fucking superstar.  
> (A while after posting I came back to correct some spelling errors. All mistakes are my own, of course.)

**XI**. _Winter._

 

Eve knows it's probably in her head, but she imagines she can feel how warm her blood is as it oozes out of her lower stomach, and then turns cold when it meets the air.

It has to be in her head. It can't happen so fast. Maybe it feels like that because her hands are cold, because all of her blood is draining out of her body.

"You stupid cunt", Villanelle hisses from across the floor.

Eve chuckles. She's never heard Villanelle use _that_ word before. Laughing hurts though, and she takes a large intake of breath.

"You stupid, stupid cunt", Villanelle continues while gasping for air. "You had to be the hero, didn't you? You and your stupid ideas!" She's almost screaming now, rolling onto her side on the floor while clutching her rib cage. In the dim light of the bedroom, the blood on her hands looks almost black.

Eve's vision is doubled; she sees two blondes crawling on the floor. _This is ridiculous,_ she thinks. She's in so much pain, so much that it's almost numbing her.

"Are you happy now, Eve?" Villanelle screeches, and slams the floor with her fist. "Fuck you! God, it hurts!"

"I know", Eve whispers. She groans as she drags herself towards Villanelle.

_We're going to stain the carpet._

Eve crawls until she's next to Villanelle, limbs heavy and breathing laboured. She's drenched in her blood now, and starts to get really, really cold.

"Oksana", she whispers, and seeks the other woman's eyes.

Villanelle turns her head towards Eve while pressing hard where the bullet went in, and didn't come out. Her eyes are wide, anguished, and wet.

"It's okay", Eve breathes, and squeezes her eyes shut. Villanelle's right, it _hurts_. "It's okay. It was always going to end like this anyway. It's done now."

"Na-uh", Villanelle gulps, voice shaking. She stares at the ceiling. "We had fun. How did we get here?"

Eve's heart aches worse than the wound that's slowly killing her, draining her life out of her.

_How, indeed._

 

* * *

 

**I. _Spring._**

 

There's snow on the ground. It's cold and wet against Eve's still small fingers. Her mother had told her to wear gloves, but she'd forgotten; the joy of snow angels was far more important than the hypothetical flu.

She smiles. Her dark hair is full of snowflakes, the back of her skull already wet. Opening her eyes, the snowflakes get caught in her lashes, and the sky is pure white.

_Happy. Home._

_Cold._

Eve's head feels cold. Something's wrong. She isn't fourteen, and it isn't winter, but there's something cold on her face.

Oh, and her head aches. Did she have an accident? She tries opening her eyes, but it's too bright.

"Eve", a soft voice says.

"What", Eve mutters, moves a hand to her face. There's a bag of ice there, wrapped in a towel. What--

"It will hurt for a bit. It might leave a bruise."

She knows that voice. She searches her memory; it's still dizzy and bringing her back to Connecticut, but _God_ , does she know that voice.

She doesn't want to open her eyes. "You're dead." Maybe Eve has died too, and this is Villanelle kicking her ass in the afterlife.

"Yes, I have died twice already, as you know", the voice replies.

"Cats have nine lives", Eve whispers, and lowers the ice from her temple. She slowly opens her eyes.

Her living-room, apparently, also exists in the afterlife.

Villanelle is there. Smudgy around the edges, but there she is. Eve can't completely make out her features, but she knows the posture, the shoulders, the hairline, the scent.

"Did you hit me?" Eve groans. There's a ringing in her ear.

"Did you stab me?"

"Oh, okay", Eve gulps and shuts her eyes. It's still too bright. "I killed you. I know I did. The blood-- I followed you all the way down to the river, there's no way you could swim in that condition--"

"For your information I am an excellent swimmer, but I didn't want to get sepsis so I didn't actually jump in. Bodies get ugly in the water."

"You bled out", Eve snaps, and tries to sit up. She realizes she's on her couch. Villanelle must have placed her there. Um. "You-- You died. There was so much blood. You died. I _mourned_ you."

"Yes, you seemed very sad", Villanelle chuckles. "And guilty. The things you would have done to get me back. How boring your life is now."

Eve stares.

"Yes, I read your diary."

"Oh, you--" Eve flings herself off the couch, but her head spins and she falls right back down. She needs to get out of the house, needs to get _her_ out of the house. "Niko will be home any minute now."

"Um, no. He won't." Villanelle holds up Eve's cell and, presumably, her own. "I cloned your phone. How do you think he would feel if he knew the reason why you couldn't have him here anymore, hm? That everytime you were next to him, you saw me and then saw yourself stab him? You sound sooo dangerous, Eve. So dramatic."

"Oh, fuck you, Oksana", Eve spits and rubs her head. God, what had she hit her with? Her temple feels sore to the touch. "Why are you _here?_ Why haven't you just disappeared? Everyone thought you were dead."

"Not everyone", Villanelle says. "Konstantin knows I'm alive. And The Twelve know too. My apartment is compromised and so is my primary bank account."

Eve takes a minute to process the information. "You were supposed to kill Konstantin. He turned against them."

"You don't get it, do you", Villanelle yawns and walks over to the fridge. She pulls out a bottle of wine. "Konstantin and me were a team. He was my handler. They sent this stupid, condescending boy to replace him, and so I killed that one. I was hungry. Prison was shit, so I lost my temper a bit. He was really annoying. But apparently, he was someone important. Two days ago someone tried to push me under a train and that someone was not Konstantin."

"So they want you dead", Eve says, and finally makes out Villanelle's eyes. They're bright, glistening. The bruises on her lip and forehead have almost faded. "And he wants you dead. That's-- Wow. That's a lot of wrong people to want you dead. You're not safe in Paris."

"Mm", Villanelle hums, and pours the wine into a glass. One glass, not two. Eve suddenly notices Villanelle's moving rather stiffly.

"Are you injured?" She didn't mean to ask that. She doesn't care, she tells herself.

"I tore my stitches when I threw him under the train instead", Villanelle sighs, like she's having the most normal conversation in the world. She takes a sip of her wine. "They know it was you who tried to kill me. They are monitoring your phone, of course."

Eve feels the sudden urge to laugh at Villanelle, to make her feel _small._ "And you come here? You come out in the open, just to get back at me? Wow, you are really smart. God, how did you get away for so long--"

"They know you think _you_ killed me", Villanelle corrects, then slowly walks over to her. She squats down in front of Eve, points a finger at her. "They know you. And if I showed up here, you would do everything you could to get me back in prison. Unless, of course, say, I had planted a bomb under your husband's car. The sticker on the windshield is very sweet."

Eve's chest grows tight. She clenches her jaw. Villanelle knows where Niko lives now. _No._ "Don't you dare. Oksana, I mean it. Don't you dare."

Villanelle smiles, but it isn't beautiful like before; it's malicious and challenging, and Eve knows she is serious. She is serious about all of this. She's here.

"Please don't hurt him."

Villanelle takes a sip of wine. "Do what I say and I won't."

"What do you want?" Eve manages. _To kill her. Revenge. Of course._ It's not like she doesn't deserve it.

They both deserve it.

"I am going to get well so that I can find the bastards that are trying to push me under trains." She laughs, like the thought of dying like that is hilarious. "You are going to make sure everyone else keeps thinking that I'm dead, and when I'm well enough, I will leave, and your precious husband will be alive. If you turn me in, believe me, Eve, I am taking him with me."

_No, you're not._

"Don't you have leverage on anyone other than me?" Eve asks. This isn't going to happen. She can't have her here. Eve has spent the last two weeks being sure she was dead, wishing she was alive, but having no idea what to do if she was.

"You are the most fun to play with", Villanelle says casually. "And you are unstable. Entertaining."

"How do I know you won't kill me the second you're better?" Eve asks, even though she knows she doesn't want to hear the answer to her question. Not really. In Villanelle's shoes, she would want revenge. She would want to hurt, like she wanted in Paris--

"You don't know", Villanelle states, and has the audacity to look pleased.

"I'm sorry you lived", Eve lies, and she knows that Villanelle knows she's lying. "Niko has moved out. What makes you think he is more important than me finally getting you thrown behind bars? If I got you _alive_ , then I would get my life back."

Villanelle holds up Eve's diary.

Eve groans and shoves her head into a pillow.

 

* * *

 

**II. _Summer._**

 

Eve doesn't sleep. She constantly has dark circles under her eyes, circles that not even the best concealer can cover. Her voice is strangled, like it would be if she smoked. Every once in awhile, she drops a pen or a cup. Not on purpose, but simply because her hands are trembling from too much caffeine and too little sleep.

_I'm still stuck. I don't get how I could do that. I'm scared I'll never feel better, I'm scared I'll always look for her everywhere even when she's in the ground or the river or wherever she ended up._

Eve has brought her diary to work. She hasn't written a single thing since Villanelle showed up and knocked the lights out of her two weeks ago. The humiliation of Villanelle reading everything was enough for now.

The humiliation of Villanelle knowing everything about _her_.

_I wish I had seen her body, I think it would have helped me get over her. This. I still don't know what this was. Can you want something without really wanting it? I did want to find her, I did want to make her pay and hurt her, I did want to kill her. But then when I did, I didn't. How does that work? Why does it work like that?_

She chews her sandwich and wonders what not-dead Villanelle is up to. Eve doesn't dare ask, afraid the answer will come in the form of a hole in her gut. Maybe she's asleep. Or maybe she's working out. Eve isn't sure she does that, but she swears her yoga mat's been moved several times. And she probably does. She's so strong, after all. Even after what Eve did to her.

She wonders if Villanelle will find the box of things that Eve stole from her Parisian apartment before the police showed up.

_I dream about her all the time. It's usually the other way around. She gets me, and I bleed out, but sometimes I think that would have been better. Then I wouldn't be the one left behind. I feel so alone now._

Taking some of Villanelle's clothes, perfumes and small things from around the apartment hadn't made her feel bad then. It does now. She worries what Villanelle will think if she finds them. When she finds them. She worries what it will mean that she took them. With Villanelle dead, it seemed like a compulsory thing to do, to have, at least, some part of her. Something to keep.

With Villanelle alive, Eve is forced to rethink what is happening, but she can't, and so she doesn't.

_I didn't know it would feel this empty. I didn't know what I'd feel once I caught her. I didn't know I could be so obsessed with a goal and not see beyond it. She wasn't a thing. She was a person._

"Wow, you look like shit today."

Eve jumps ten inches in the air and almost spills the contents of her sandwich all over her diary. "Jesus, don't do that."

Elena sits down across from her, lunch tray in hand and looking as radiant as always. She's opted for soup and a baguette. Eve realizes she should've got that instead of her ham and cheese sandwich.

"Sorry", Elena laughs and looks Eve up and down. "It's bad enough you hit your head on a shelf, what is with you? You still look like you haven't slept at all."

_I haven't._

"Just the normal stuff", Eve mumbles and puts her diary away. She doesn't need anyone else reading it. "You know."

"Nightmares?"

"Mm-hm."

"Oh, dang. Was she there?"

"Yeah."

"Did you...?"

"No", Eve says with a tight smile. "She got me instead last night. Um, she usually does. Serves me right."

"Oh, don't say that", Elena objects and takes a big chunk of her baguette. "Rather her than you. It's been weeks, Eve. If Carolyn finds out you're still obsessing about her, she'll probably fire you a third time. You really need to start letting her go. You did the world a favour."

Eve clasps her hands. It's killing her. She imagines Niko's remains after he blows up on his drive home. She wants to tell, and she can't, and it's killing her. "I thought saving the world was _your_ thing."

Elena smiles behind her bread. "I still do. And I know you think there's just going to be a new Villanelle one day, and that this didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but it did. She ruined your life. She was dangerous, Eve. She was insane."

_No, she wasn't._

_She is._

"Yeah", Eve mumbles and avoids Elena's eyes. She feels like everyone having lunch is staring at her, like everyone knows that she's doing something illegal. "She just-- She g--"

"Gave you something you didn't know you needed, yeah yeah, I know."

"Need", Eve whispers.

Elena looks up.

"I still need it. I feel like, I mean, she-- I feel like a part of me died that day. Like, actually died, Elena. In such a short time she became everything I thought about, and with Bill and Niko I just-- I needed her. And I wasn't ready for what I did. I don't think I realized that if I stabbed her, everything else, everything, would just... end."

Elena is quiet for a moment. "Bill died", she whispers. Eve feels terrible. "He did, and you didn't." Then she reaches out and places her warm hand onto Eve's cold one. "I think you should talk to someone, Eve. I think you should pop by Dr. Edmund."

Eve swallows. "Yeah." She wraps up the sandwich, remembers Villanelle watching television on her couch, squeezes Elena's hand in return. "Yeah, I probably should."

 

* * *

 

**III.**

 

Eve walks in on Villanelle cleaning out her wardrobe. In her bedroom.

At first, she doesn't register what's going on. There are piles and piles of clothes - her clothes - on the floor, and even more piles and piles of shopping bags everywhere.

"What are you doing?" she chokes. Even after two weeks, it's still a shock to find Villanelle in her home every evening.

Villanelle's standing in front of Eve's open wardrobe, holding one of her shirts. "Oh, hi", she smiles, although it's far from genuine. "I went shopping. You know, some of these things you have are really boring and they do not do you justice, so I thought--"

"You went _out?_ " Eve cuts in, takes a few steps forward.

"That's the part you are angry about?" Villanelle asks, sounding annoyed, and rips the shirt in two.

The sound of it snaps Eve out of her daze. "You are supposed to be resting, that's the whole point of you being here! And hey, you have no right to go through my stuff--"

"Oh, ha ha." Villanelle raises her eyebrows, and waits.

"Is this-- Is this because I trashed your place? I let you stay here and you'll just destroy everything in your wake, again?"

Villanelle drops the torn shirt into a pile of more probably-torn clothes and looks at Eve with a blank expression. "No. I just thought you needed an update. You are not the same now."

Eve gulps, wants to throw her bag at Villanelle's healed face because _goddamn her_ , she is right.

Eve isn't the same. She hasn't been for a long time, and so she focuses on staying calm, not throwing her bag, and looks around.

Even the shopping bags look expensive. She doesn't recognize half of the names, but there's Bvlgari and Sonia Rykiel and Balenciaga and that couldn't have been cheap.

"You got these for me?" Eve asks incredulously, seeking Villanelle's eyes. The blonde is busy going through Eve's underwear drawer, and she doesn't reply. "Um, well, I, I mean, thank you. You didn't have to--"

"Oh, this is mostly for me to be quite honest", Villanelle cuts in and shrugs. "I don't know how long I'm going to be stuck here looking at your dreary outfits day after day so the least I could do is make it bearable for me. You're in good shape. You should dress like it."

Eve frowns. Villanelle makes it sound like she'd been wearing garbage bags up until now, which she obviously hadn't been. But Eve knows. She knows her clothes are blank, with no character. Still, they are hers.

Like reading her mind, Villanelle turns back towards the wardrobe. "I'm not getting rid of all your stuff, just the worst ones."

"Okay", Eve mumbles while looking over the bags again. She's too tired for this. "Okay, I'm gonna take a bath, so, so just, knock yourself out." She turns around, heads for the door.

"I could clear out your husband's drawers tomorrow if I have the energy."

All the air leaves Eve's lungs, and she feels her lip twitch. She's thankful Villanelle can't see her face. To her, Niko is the solemn and disappointed dog at the pound, the one that looked at its owner and couldn't understand why it was being left behind.

The solemn dog that doesn't know it could be put down any minute now.

_You're getting off on sniffing out a psycho._

She will not cry. She will go into the bathroom, fill up the tub, sink into the hot water and scream as hard as she can, underwater. She will not cry.

After her bath, Eve tiptoes back to her bedroom, clutching the towel around her. She'd been half-sure that Villanelle would jump out of somewhere just to make her drop it, but Eve can't see nor hear her.

When she enters her bedroom, there is a navy, fuzzy, beautiful bathrobe waiting on her bed. Eve stares at it like it might explode, then slowly walks closer to it. She puts her hand on it, feels the terry cloth under her pruned fingers.

Exquisite.

She feels her face break into a smile.

_No._

_Oh, no._

 

* * *

 

**IV.**

 

Villanelle loves baths. She _loves_ them.

Eve's tub isn't half as nice as the one in Villanelle's old apartment, but it does its job.

She buys expensive bath salts and lotions, takes great pride in treating her wounded and wired body to what it deserves. Takes pride in knowing that even though someone almost killed her, she is still gorgeous. Nothing has changed.

Her stitched-up wound still aches.

When Eve is at work, Villanelle spends her days reading, shopping, watching movies, working out, snooping around the house, tracking Eve and Niko, seeing London, as in really seeing the city, not just passing by as she slits some parliamentarian's throat.

She shops for kitchenware, telling the salesperson that she's practicing the art of sashimi when she actually just wants to find a knife that feels right in her hand; a knife that makes its owner actually work for control, is sharp, delicate and expensive.

Like her.

A knife she could slip into Eve Polastri's ribs, then lick the blood from the blade.

Or, maybe just slip into her ribs.

Maybe just swallow her moans of pain, keep her on the edge of life and death, feel her body give in.

Villanelle feels a surge of want, buys four different knives, then hides them around Eve's house.

After her workout (planks, yoga, bulgarian splits on the stairs) she eases her sweaty body into the bath. It's warm; it sucks her in like a safe, liquid embrace and she allows herself to close her eyes. She can, because Eve shouldn't be home for another hour.

Sometimes, when Eve is asleep, Villanelle sneaks into her room and just listens to her breathing. Sometimes Eve screams, but doesn't wake up. Sometimes she talks in her sleep, and always uses Villanelle's given name, not her chosen one. Sometimes she does wake up, gasping, and Villanelle stays quiet and still, doesn't leave until Eve is sleeping soundly.

Villanelle isn't bored yet. There are many things to do, see, and read in the house. There are many ways to torment Eve. Last night, Villanelle had found a new way to push her buttons: Eve had been sitting on the floor watching the news (because Villanelle had occupied the couch and asking her to move probably meant sudden death for Eve), looking strained and anxious, her hands playing with her hair all the time.

It had been transfixing. Villanelle's eyes had followed Eve's delicate hands working through the strands, putting her hair up, taking it back down. So transfixing, that she hadn't been able to stop herself from reaching out and touching it.

Eve had gasped. Loudly. Then she'd curled up, like a child waiting for punishment. Villanelle had felt victorious, satisfied.

Villanelle smiles at the memory and runs her nails over her left thigh. It doesn't stop amusing her that Eve is actually afraid she will one day just end her life. Just like that.

She moves her hand to her waist, scratches there.

She won't, though. She decided so a long time ago; if Eve doesn't disappoint her, her sneaking around in her house and slowly destroying her spirit will be enough punishment as it is.

Eve's diary had bared Eve's soul. But instead of empathy, Villanelle had felt proud when she'd read it; proud of how crazy she had driven the other woman, proud that she'd managed to conquer and own such a big part of Eve's mind.

It is punishment enough. When Villanelle decides it's time to leave and track down her hunters, she will simply disappear.

That way, Eve will feel the loss all over again. She will fill the last pages of her diary, and Villanelle will know that she has branded Eve for life.

Villanelle grinds the heel of her palm against herself, toys with the idea of using the shower-head.

A door opens downstairs.

Villanelle sits up in a haste and splashes water everywhere. Eve is early. She quickly dries off, hurries into the study to get some fresh clothes, then tip-toes down the stairs. She finds Eve stocking the kitchen island with different packages and products.

"Honey, you're home!" Villanelle exclaims, and winks at her.

Eve looks up from the island. "Hi", she says timidly, then begins to unwrap some sort of meat.

Villanelle frowns. This last week, Eve has seemed more okay with having her here. Well, as okay as she could be expected to be. But today she is frowning and her beautiful face is tight. Embarrassment from last night? No. Something else.

"What is it?" Villanelle asks and walks around the island. She stops Eve's hands. "What has happened?"

"You happened", Eve says so softly that Villanelle barely catches it, but she does. She digs her nails into Eve's palm, and the other woman freezes and finally looks up, dark eyes with a hint of pure panic.

"Out with it, Eve." Villanelle grows impatient. She enjoys Eve's fear, but there's a time and place for that too.

"My co-workers have invited themselves over for dinner", Eve finally says, and the panic in her eyes turns into desperation. "And I couldn't tell them not to come, because 'yeah, of course, just so you know, that psychopath who you all think I killed is _living in my house_ so we'll be one more for dinner but don't worry, just because she gutted two of us doesn't mean you'll die and is beef Wellington okay' just, well, in my head that didn't sound like a valid excuse."

Villanelle stares, then bursts out laughing. _Eve._ "This is why you're so irritated?"

Eve's eyes move to Villanelle's wet hair, then to her bare face. "Well, yeah."

_You're shaking._

_Well, yeah._

Villanelle pinches Eve's cheek. "Don't worry. I will hide." She drops her gaze to Eve's lips. "Then you can find me again."

Eve slaps her hip with a zucchini.

 

* * *

 

**V.**

 

"No", Eve gasps, and struggles to find the switch of her bedside lamp. "No, please, please, I'm sorry--"

"Shut up", Villanelle mutters as she pads into the room, hair messy and looking extremely annoyed. "Turn that thing off, it's late."

"But", Eve gasps, crawls backwards on the bed until the back of her head hits the wall. She groans, covers her head with her hand. The light is still on, and it's too bright. She closes her eyes.

"I will not kill you in your sleep", Villanelle sighs, and Eve almost jumps out of her skin. She's standing right beside the bed, arms crossed over her magnificent dressing gown.

"I wasn't sleeping", Eve groans, and avoids her eyes. She has been pissing Villanelle off for days on end, complaining about her being messy, complaining about her being _her_.

"I will not try to kill you in bed either", Villanelle sighs, sounding almost amused. "I am not you, Eve."

"Oh, piss off", Eve hisses in return, covers her eyes with her hands. This is a mess. Her life is a goddamn mess. Why did she have to be like this, why couldn't she just see when the right time to stop was, why--

"Move", Villanelle orders and looks at the bed.

Eve drops her hands. "What?"

"Move", Villanelle repeats, looking pissed off now. "It means you wriggle your body to the other side--"

"I know what it means, you jerk, but if you think for a second I'm letting you sleep in here then you're--"

Villanelle pulls a folding knife out of the pocket of her robe, and Eve's sentence dies in her mouth.

The woman who said she wouldn't try to kill her in the bed. Still, Eve's blood runs cold.

"My back hurts", Villanelle says, as if she's describing the weather. "That couch in the study is a real pain in the ass, and I need my beauty sleep. Otherwise, I will get very grumpy."

"There's another one downstairs", Eve whispers, suddenly very aware of her own state of undress. Her silk top - the top Villanelle had bought her - feels too thin.

"That one is shit too!" Villanelle protests. She twists the knife around in her hand. "I have already slept on it for two nights. I have been sleeping on shit couches for weeks. I think my posture is getting bad."

"Oh", Eve mumbles, looks around at nothing. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize." She hadn't even heard Villanelle go downstairs last night, or the night before that.

Villanelle gestures towards the bed.

Reluctantly, Eve shuffles to her left, to Niko's side. Or what used to be his side. Suddenly, she feels sad, and she flattens his pillow with more force than necessary.

Villanelle slumps down on Eve's side with a deep, dramatic sigh. The knife is still in her hand, but she's closed her eyes, and her golden hair is a mess around her pale face.

Eve rolls to her side and slowly raises her hand towards the knife. She's on her back with the air knocked out of her before she even realizes her miscalculation.

"You're full of shit", Eve hisses, barely moving her mouth because the blade is against her jugular and Villanelle is straddling her waist.

"Do you honestly think I am so stupid that I would make the same mistake twice?" Villanelle chuckles, presses the blade harder against Eve's throat while pressing her body down on her.

Eve tries to inhale deeply, but the move pushes her into the knife, so she tries to get a few shallow breaths. She's so angry. But she's also a different woman today, so she raises one hand to the knife, grabs Villanelle's wrist hard.

Her other hand moves to her own top, and she pulls it up, all the way up to her rib cage. Villanelle's gaze falters, and she looks down at Eve's stomach, at her skin. In a split second, her eyes go from mischievous to interested, intent. Hungry.

"I was just going to put it on the table", Eve whispers, her fingers spread over her own stomach. She isn't lying. "I'm tired. I have work in the morning. I'm so tired all the time because you're in my house and it's been forever and I'm keeping this huge secret, so just stop this, stop fucking with me."

"Oh, Eve", Villanelle chuckles, but doesn't move the knife from her throat, even though Eve's succumbing, letting herself be hurt. "I haven't even started yet."

And immeditely Eve realizes, that's no fun. Villanelle doesn't want her to succumb, not when it comes to her _life_. She wants her to put up a fight.

"Come on then", she whispers, grabs the arm holding the knife with both of her hands. "I know you're just playing. Stop this so I can sleep."

Big mistake.

Villanelle smiles. It is beautiful.

And deadly.

Villanelle moves the covers down and pushes one of her knees in between Eve's legs. Eve immediately goes from arrogant to defensive, and moves her hands down to Villanelle's robed waist. She wants to push, to throw her off, but just holds her hands there, scared to do anything; scared of what Villanelle will do.

"Don't", she whispers, seeking hazel eyes, desperate to put an end to this. But Villanelle pays her no mind as she slides forward like a lioness, supporting her weight on one arm, knife still at her throat.

Her hair falls down over her shoulder, next to Eve's face. Her nostrils flare with the scent of something fresh and expensive, like a spring morning by the sea.

_Not this._

Villanelle's knee grinds into her.

_Anything but this._

She can handle the guns, the knives, the violence. But not this.

"Come on", Villanelle chuckles. She grinds her knee a little harder, hits Eve right where she _doesn't_ want to feel it, and laughs in triumph when a soft gasp escapes her lips. "This could be so nice. Stop being a prude, Eve."

"No", Eve manages, and to her horror, feels herself raise her hips just a little. She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut, turns her head away. This isn't her. She can't be this person who gives in so easily, gives into this monster of a human being--

"Not what I want to hear", Villanelle argues, lets up for a second, then grinds her knee harder against her, thrusts her body above Eve like it's the most natural thing to do.

And to her, it probably is, Eve thinks. That, and slitting someone's throat. Shooting someone in the head. Blowing up someone's car.

She does it again, and again Eve screams on the inside as she moans on the outside, a desperate whimper, pleading with Villanelle. Her hands finally find their strength and she stills the blonde's hips, holds her steady.

"That's more like it." Villanelle sounds pleased and she glances down at Eve's hands. Then, she folds the knife away with one hand, buries it in the pocket of her robe and Eve thinks maybe, maybe this is over.

But Villanelle's gaze grows hungrier. She looks over Eve's body like she doesn't know where to begin, and her hand creeps up to Eve's naked rib cage, where her top is pushed up, and she leisurely runs her hand between her breasts up to her throat. Eve turns her head away, wants to disappear from this world because her hips are grinding against Villanelle's knee in a slow rhythm now, and it feels so sick and wrong. And so, so good.

"Please", she finally manages through clenched teeth, faces the other woman and moves her hands up to her neck. With all of her willpower, she caresses long golden strands and Villanelle's warm face, the same way Villanelle had, before. Before the inevitable.

Villanelle stops moving and her face grows stern, like she can't believe Eve is touching her with kindness.

"Please", Eve repeats. "Let's not do this now. We're both so tired. Let's not-- not like this, I don't-- " She tries to read Villanelle's inscrutable face. She touches her parted lips with her fingers, lightly. "Let's just sleep. Okay?"

Villanelle stays still for what feels like an eternity. Then, she straightens herself and smiles sweetly. "Okay", she says, like the perkiest girl who ever lived. She jumps off of Eve and slumps down beside her on the bed again, curls up on one side and closes her eyes like she really intends to go to sleep right there. And what the hell?

"You--", Eve gulps, then turns towards her. "Just like that?" Her body is still pulsing. This was close.

"You idiot", Villanelle mumbles without opening her eyes. She looks oddly peaceful there, beside Eve. "What do you take me for? Like you said, I'm just playing. I'm not going to force you. It's no fun."

"Oh", Eve says, because she didn't see this coming. She swallows, wishes she had some water. "I thought you--"

"Oh my god", Villanelle groans and opens one eye. "Killing and sex are different. Sometimes I wonder if you really studied criminal psychology or if you just lied to get that old woman to like you and let you chase me. You are safe, I promise. Go to sleep."

"How'd you-- okay. Fine." Never mind, she'd find out later just how much Villanelle actually knows about her. She stretches to turn off the light, then panics when she realizes she's left in the dark with Villanelle. Literally, this time. She's always been in the dark with her.

There's an arm around her waist, pulling her in tightly. She smells the same spring breeze again, and momentarily lets herself be pulled into the other woman's neck.

"Your heartbeat is so loud the whole bed is shaking", Villanelle mumbles into her hair. A hand pats her stomach. "I promised. Go to sleep."

Strangely, Eve does. It makes no sense, and she is still scared, and she is still wet, but she is also so, so tired. As soon as her body relaxes, she drifts into a deep, safe slumber, anchored by Villanelle's strong arm.

 

* * *

 

**VI. _Autumn._**

 

"How'd you know I was coming over?"

Eve gulps. Niko's walking around in the kitchen - their kitchen - looking at everything, probably picking out all the things that have changed since he left. Books and quilts here and there, a pillow. A rug. Villanelle's jumper.

"I didn't, what do you mean?"

Niko points at the kitchen table. "Two plates?"

_Shit._

"I just put it out", Eve lies. "Didn't you see?"

Niko's face goes blank, then he smiles, looking embarrassed. "Um, yeah, sorry."

They sit down and eat in silence, the air laden with everything that once was, and undoubtedly is no more. Niko keeps glancing at her, wears a frown, shuffles the food around on his plate.

Eve feels a knot in her chest, something tight and painful. Loving Niko in itself doesn't hurt. It's the weight of never making new memories and having to live with the old ones that makes Eve want to throw her fork, throw him out, drink herself to sleep and forget it all.

"Viktor's couch is really uncomfortable", Niko laughs when Eve puts the dishes away.

_Our couches are too, apparently._

"Yeah", Eve sighs and chooses to stay by the island instead of sitting back down. "Maybe you should ask Jocelyn and Kamil if they know a place. It's their job, so they probably know, you know, something." Her voice sounds like it's coming from far, far away. She doesn't even realize what she's said until Niko's chair scrapes against the floor.

"Almost twenty years, and that's it then?" He runs a hand through his hair, pinches the bridge of his nose.

"We've been over this", Eve replies, trying to work around the subject, around the accusation buried underneath his words. "I just, I, I need to be alone right now."

"Don't you understand how ludicrous this is?" Niko's clenching his fists and Eve knows that he's trying to stay calm, trying to stay grounded so that she can be fierce.

She can't go back to the woman she was before. She'd been craving something for such a long time, craving the chance to prove her worth, prove herself intelligent and committed. She'd needed to surround herself with the darkness and violence that constantly crawled around her edges, needed to find an outlet, something concrete.

Niko touches her cheek.

His hand feels warm. Calluses scrape against her skin. Eve closes her eyes, feels like she will rip herself to pieces because of this wonderful man who wants to love her and support her, all while not seeing who she really is and what she's capable of. What she's already done. She breathes in his familiar smell and wonders if she smells different to him, now.

Villanelle is upstairs.

Eve steps out of Niko's arms and wipes her face. She hadn't realized she's spilling tears. "You should leave", she croaks, avoids his eyes and picks up her wine glass. "Thanks for the company and, and all, but I need a shower and work is crazy--"

"Are you already chasing someone else then?" Niko probes at the mention of Eve's work.

Eve stares at him. "Um, uh, no. No, no new ones."

_There wouldn't be any room for new ones anyway._

Niko puts his coat back on and heads for the hallway. He stops, looks at her as if he wants to touch her, but seems to understand that it's not what she wants right now.

"Good night", Eve says kindly, but with a tone that means that continued conversation is not necessary nor wanted.

"Good night. Take care of yourself."

Eve hears the door open, close, silence. She lets out a huge breath, covers her face in her hands and prays that this is the last time he shows up without warning.

She walks into the hallway to lock the door, but gets the fright of a lifetime instead.

Villanelle is sitting on the stairs, unmoving, like a statue. She looks frozen in time, but Eve knows that she's simply planning her next move.

They stay there for awhile, simply looking at each other, until Villanelle slowly rises and disappears up the stairs.

Villanelle comes to bed long after Eve, who's been going stir crazy wondering what Villanelle's been up to for the last three hours. She's imagined all sorts of things: Killing Niko, drinking, sex with some beautiful woman with gorgeous hair--

"Ugh", Villanelle sighs when her head hits the pillow.

Eve feels a wave of nausea. "Where were you?" she asks, and hates the way her voice shakes.

Villanelle turns towards her, lifts the covers to get underneath and yawns. Loudly. "The London Eye", she mutters and rolls her eyes. "I always wanted to go, but that thing wasn't even high and it was sooo slow. Waste of money."

Eve breathes out a silent gasp of relief. She studies Villanelle's face; her sharp cheekbones, full lips, mesmerizing eyes. Villanelle looks right at her, looking neither glad nor angry, just... tentative. Waiting.

"I think I want--", Eve begins, but doesn't know the end of that sentence, doesn't know where her mind is taking her. She feels so hot under the covers, wants to throw them off. Wants to strip out of her pajamas, wants the woman next to her to finally strip out of her own. "I think I'd like to-- We, I mean--"

Apparently her face betrays her thoughts, because Villanelle shakes her head lightly and pinches her lips. "You are still thinking about your husband. I have no interest in fucking you while you think about him."

Eve's heart stops. She's never heard Villanelle speak of her in such context before. She knows she thinks about it, wants it, but she never pushes, not since the first night they slept next to each other. She looks, a lot. Stares at Eve's back, her legs, her _hair_. The air is tense in the house, and Eve feels that strange pull, that invisible wire that binds her to Villanelle. She wants to both cut it, and get tangled in it all the same. She just _wants_.

"I'm not thinking about him", Eve whispers and edges closer to Villanelle. Eve's knee bumps into her thigh. "I'm thinking about you."

Villanelle's eyes are almost glassy. She raises her eyebrows and sighs, like she's come to a decision.

Eve wants to protest, but is afraid to, when Villanelle throws her covers off and gets up to sleep on one of the uncomfortable couches.

 

* * *

 

**VII.**

 

Eve is done. She's done playing house, done lying to everyone, done spinning in this limbo, done protecting Niko, done with Villanelle's long looks and accidental touches.

She summons all her strength and shoves Villanelle across the kitchen, like she had shoved Niko that night she had set her priorities straight, and Villanelle actually stumbles into the island, doesn't see it coming at all.

"How much more, huh?" she screams at the younger woman, the _child_ inhabiting her house. "How much longer before you take off? How much more do you want to torture me?"

Villanelle groans and rubs her hip where it collided with the island. "You get this angry because I lit some candles and made you dinner? Pfft. Unstable."

"I can't take this!" Eve actually screams. She's angry, because Villanelle cooking is so _normal_. She grabs a piece of bread and throws it at Villanelle, who barely manages to duck. "I can't take this goddamn charade, this domesticity, this lie that we're just happily living our lives together in this house until you leave to kill everyone!"

"It is not a lie", Villanelle argues steadily. "I don't want it to be."

"Fuck you!" Eve screams and throws another piece. That one hits Villanelle right in her shoulder. "None of this is okay! You don't understand how tiresome it is to have you, to sleep next to you, to, to, to live with you and nobody knows it! I can't tell anyone!"

"You would have made a terrible therapist", Villanelle jokes and picks up the bread from the floor.

Eve surges forward and throws a bottle of wine in Villanelle's direction. It misses her head, crashes into the cupboard and explodes everywhere.

Villanelle gets back up. "Oh-kay", she says slowly, in warning, and Eve finally feels a hint of fear under all of her frustration and fatigue and want and pain.

"Just tell me what you want!" Eve continues screaming and slams her fist on the table. The cutlery sings from the impact.

"I want you to calm down and eat", Villanelle says, looking very put-out. "I cooked. I don't cook for anyone, and it really hurts my feelings that you haven't even tasted it yet."

Eve's rage blinds her. She leaps to where Villanelle is standing and lunges at her throat, grabs it with both hands and squeezes hard. She has never been this angry. She hasn't got this close to killing her since Paris. She is exhausted and broken and ripped to pieces and Villanelle's lack of response galvanizes her to choke her harder.

Villanelle smiles. For a second, Eve almost lets go out of pure confusion, because Villanelle is letting her choke her, but then she feels something wet and hot running down her face. Next thing she knows, she has curry and beans in her nostrils and mouth, her eyes and her hair. She gags and lets go.

Villanelle's poured their dinner over her. Eve frantically tries to rub the dish out of her eyes, thankful that she closed them before the sauce hit them, but it burns and she wants to kill Villanelle with her bare hands. Again.

"Food fight?" Villanelle suggests. She runs a finger over Eve's sauce-covered cheek and puts it in her mouth. "Mm. Amazing."

Tears sting in her eyes. Eve turns on her heel and heads for the bathroom, leaving a trail of sauce after her.

For the first time in a long time, she cries in the bath. She has rinsed the sauce out, brushed her teeth, and she cries.

Months. Months of living with a psychopath, letting her get comfortable only to be reminded by a blade here or a threat there. Letting her get used to Villanelle's breath on her cheek at night, to her stupid jokes as they watch movies, to her gentle touches and looks.

A part of her has been happy. A part of her has been terrified for so long, and she can't talk about this with anyone. She feels alone in her world, and the gap between her and Villanelle only grows and grows. She aches for her, to let her in, to reach across the ravine, to let her have everything, every part of Eve. She hates herself and her. She hates them both equally.

The water grows cold and she cries some more.

"Tell someone", Villanelle says when Eve returns to the kitchen, hair towel-dried and wearing her bathrobe.

"What?" Eve rasps. She realizes Villanelle has cleaned up. She realizes she's still hungry.

"Tell someone", she repeats while putting away the cutlery. She's changed her clothes too; she's in sweats and a basic tank top. Eve wonders if she got some sauce on her fancy dress and immediately feels bad. "Someone you trust. Someone who won't ruin this."

Eve considers her words, astounded that Villanelle has suggested she actually share what her life - their life - has become. "You're going to leave", Eve whispers. "You're almost healed. You're running again. You're going to leave, and take _this_ with you."

Villanelle looks up from behind the island, and Eve's breath catches in her throat. The younger woman's eyes are bright and open, like they were before. Before--

_Would you stay for a bit?_

"If I tell someone, will you stay?"

_They will kill you. You'll be dead, for real this time, and I can't do it again._

Villanelle doesn't answer.

Eve moves to the couch, flops down like a sack of potatoes. It really is an uncomfortable couch, she realizes. Her back aches from sobbing, her chest aches from wanting Villanelle to be ordinary, all the time.

From wanting a psychopath to be ordinary all the time. 

When Villanelle sleeps with Eve in her arms, she forgets whose arms they are. She forgets what Villanelle has done, what Eve has done, and she wants to forget while they're awake too, be ordinary. Her only blissful moments can't be the ones just before she falls asleep.

"Okay", Villanelle says from the kitchen.

Eve sits up straight. "What?"

"Okay", she repeats, still not looking at her. "If you tell someone, and you start to feel better and that makes you less angry, then I will stay for longer."

"But you won't stay-- you know, stay-stay."

Villanelle sighs, walks around the island to where Eve is sitting on the edge of the couch and kneels before her, like she's about to pray. Eve feels a knot in her throat, and like Villanelle once again is reading her mind, she says: "I will stay until you accept who we really are. Then you will want me to leave."

Eve makes herself small. This conversation is pointless, but she wants Villanelle like this. Just like this. Normal. Talking. Serious. "I don't want to remember what we've done. I want--" Her voice dies, and she closes her eyes, feeling the beginnings of a sob in her throat.

She hears Villanelle shuffle forward, then feels hands on her bare knees. Her eyes open wide, and Villanelle is right there, inches from her face. Her eyes are kind. They see right through her.

"You want us to be like any other two people", Villanelle explains. She squeezes Eve's knees, and suddenly her robe is too hot. "Just you and me, no one else."

_Come with me. Just you and me._

"Yes", Eve whispers. It's what she wants, but she knows they will never be just them. Because Villanelle is Oksana, and Oksana is alike and unlike her in too many ways.

Villanelle's hands travel further up, to her thighs. Her touch tingles, makes Eve shiver all over. She meets the blonde's eyes, black seeking hazel, and waits.

"It's just you and me now", Villanelle whispers, glancing at Eve's parted lips. Villanelle's fingers are barely brushing the tops of her thighs, but Eve spreads her legs, on instinct, like when Villanelle had leaned in to smell her neck on that terrible night in the kitchen; Eve's eyes had closed and she'd bared her neck, and the fangs had been right there, could have easily split her skin, tasting blood, just like they were now, just like--

Villanelle's lips press a gentle kiss to Eve's neck - a distraction - while her fingertips slide up under her bathrobe and hook themselves into Eve's panties. She drags them down, and there's a sharp jolt of pleasure and anticipation between her legs, because she knows what's coming. Of course she does.

She still _doesn't_ want to want this. She wants to want something that has no end.

Villanelle throws Eve's panties to the side, then moves her hands up to the collar of Eve's robe. She puts her hand to Eve's heart, and she knows Villanelle can feel it hammering out of her chest. Slowly, she pushes the robe open, baring Eve's breasts to the cool air.

Eve thinks she is truly going to die. She doesn't have a knife, but she sees herself stabbing Villanelle again, and jesus, she's not ready but she's been wanting this forever, and Villanelle's kneeling, her hips are between her open thighs, and her lips are against her neck and there's a hand on her breast--

"Let me", Villanelle whispers into her ear, her voice heavy, right before she sinks her teeth into Eve's neck, palms her breast and thrusts her fingers inside of her.

Eve moans, holds Villanelle's head to her throat, locks her legs around her body. Wide awake, she momentarily lets herself forget who they are and what they've done to each other.

 

* * *

 

**VIII.**

 

It's her.

Eve is sure she is going to throw up when she reads the folder given to her by her new boss. Elena hovers over her shoulder, and Eve wishes she didn't, because she will most certainly throw up right there.

It's her, and Eve knows, because she has seen his name before; his name, two nights ago, in the search history of her computer.

"Jesus", Elena mutters. "What a mess." She points to one of the crime scene photos showing a man tied to a curtain rod, hanging by the arms, his jacket and dress shirt cut open. His torso cut open, parts of his bowels hanging out.

Eve feels the bile in her throat. Her stomach cramps.

Elena doesn't see it because Eve knows she doesn't understand to look for it, but his torso is cut in the shape of a 'V', missing all of his vital organs. He'd slowly bled out as his bowels slid out of his body. He'd been awake.

_Villanelle holds onto Eve's throat, forces her to look into her eyes as she is fucked thoroughly, forcefully. By the time Eve shudders and comes with a strangled moan, fingers around her throat, Villanelle's eyes look hypnotized, like she's never seen something so magnificent._

Eve wonders if Villanelle's eyes look the same when she watches someone die.

"I hope they catch the fucker who did this", Elena sighs and picks up the photo.

Eve makes it to the bin just in time.

On the bus home from work, she goes through the case file again and again. The more she reads it, the more certain she becomes.

International connections including state and presidential. Investigated a dozen times for involvement in trafficking, money laundering, bribing, corruption.

Someone else always takes the fall.

The Twelve.

Eve had thrown up twice at work. She sees violence on a daily basis now, thanks to her 'killing' Oksana Astankova. Her reactions are usually the same as they were before; cool, clever, woah. But these last few weeks she'd forced herself to stay oblivious to her memories of Villanelle's victims, and now she can't.

She imagines Villanelle taking her in her arms, right after slitting that man's stomach. She imagines her hungry, intense gaze, and nearly vomits on the bus.

When Eve gets home, Villanelle is doing hand-stand push ups against the living room wall. Late-night work-out. For a moment Eve forgets the murder, watches Villanelle lower and lift herself slowly, controlling her breathing. After a few more repetitions, Villanelle groans and lowers her bare feet back to the floor.

"Hi", she says gladly, but looks confused. "It's really late." Her breathing sounds a bit laboured. "Did something happen?"

Eve forces herself to return the smile. "No, I just went out with some co-workers", she half-lies. She'd stayed at the office, alone. She strips out of her jacket, scarf and heels, and heads for the refrigerator.

She feels Villanelle follow her. "More wine, if you were already out with your co-workers?"

Eve pours a glass and disregards the comment. Villanelle has probably checked her location through her phone. She feels numb. Tricked. Angry at herself. Angry for letting herself forget just who Villanelle is beneath that charming, beautiful exterior. No, she didn't forget; she chose to block it out. She gulps the glass down in a matter of seconds.

Villanelle takes the glass from her hand and puts it in the sink. Her skin is flushed from her work-out. She grabs Eve's harm, forces her to meet her eyes.

"Come on, now", she purrs, and Eve feels light-headed. She's too close. "What has made you upset?"

"Was it you?" It escapes Eve's mouth faster than she'd intended, and Villanelle stills. The grasp on her arm tightens a bit.

"Was _what_ me?" Villanelle asks, playing innocent. "Yes, I ate the last pudding. I couldn't sleep, I was hungry."

"Yeah, I bet you were", Eve replies, trembling now, and the grip on her arm grows painful.

Villanelle's gaze turns sharp, like she's thinking a million things, and then finally; clarity. Eve knows that she knows, and her grin only confirms it. "Do you really want me to answer that, Eve? Hmm?"

Eve tries to rip her arm away, but Villanelle knows her too well by now, so she grabs her with both arms, hard enough to leave bruises. "Let me go", she objects, but she knows Villanelle will do the opposite and curses them both.

"Remember what I said, Eve?" Villanelle grins, shoves her against the refrigerator. There's no knife this time. Not yet, at least. "I said I wouldn't leave. I never said I wasn't going to get the bastards."

"I saw the crime scene", Eve gasps as Villanelle pushes her weight onto Eve, keeping her tightly where she is. "Your ego is showing. They must know. They'll come for you." She gathers her strength and tries to wriggle out of Villanelle's grasp, her stomach is in knots and she can't help imagining what will happen now, the wrath that Villanelle will have to face once they find--

"Oh, no, no, no, Eve." Villanelle slams her back against the refrigerator door, then starts undoing the buttons of Eve's blouse. "I knew you would see it." She holds Eve, who's struggling but only half-heartedly, tightly with one hand, starts gathering up her skirt with the other. "I knew you would know right away. It was a true work of art, very Rodin, don't you think?" She starts pulling her panties down. Eve feels sick to her stomach and light-headed from the wine, from Villanelle's scent; sweat and spring, and Eve aches, fights against what she knows she wants.

"Don't", she manages, although her heart isn't in it. Villanelle's fingertips touch her lips. She can't help but want her, in all her cruelty and insanity. She sees blood-splatter and a hundred images from when she first started searching for Villanelle and succumbs, lets Villanelle push her salty fingers inside her mouth, down her throat.

"Mm", Villanelle hums in her ear and licks her collarbone. She pulls her fingers from Eve's mouth and Eve feels the loss, momentarily fears that Villanelle is just going to leave, but then strong hands are shoving her forward, face first onto the kitchen island, bending her at the waist. It's cold against her chest. A knee kicks her legs apart, a hand moves to tangle itself into her hair. Eve supports herself on her elbows, closes her eyes and hates, hates, hates them both.

"If it gets you this worked up, maybe I should track down the others as well", Villanelle whispers in her ear. Eve wants to argue, moans instead, pushes herself back against Villanelle's front. Her skirt gets pulled up to her waist and she feels Villanelle push down her own shorts, hears her spit. Eve clenches her fists, screams into the island when Villanelle fills her in every way and can't help but realize that in all her years she's never felt so full.

Villanelle is rough with her. It isn't painless. Far from it, but she revels in it, arches her back and lets Villanelle tug her hair, lets her enter her again and again anyway and anywhere she wants, deep and hard. The pressure between her legs grows, burns and she needs more, more, more.

Villanelle comes first. Eve feels her thrust faster, slamming herself into the hand between their bodies and Villanelle bends to Eve's back, moans into her blouse, gasps and kisses her there, almost gently.

She lets go of Eve's hair, and Eve feels that hand push between the island and her legs, moans shamelessly as it grinds against her while Villanelle doesn't let up, pulls her other fingers out all the way only to shove them in again, and then the pleasure is pulsing through her body, ravishing her as she trashes and pleads, all while Villanelle gently kisses her neck and she knows, in her daze of waves hitting her again and again, growing slower, when Villanelle pulls her fingers out, she just _knows_ , that one day, one way or another, this woman will kill her.

 

* * *

 

**IX.**

 

"I love you", Villanelle whispers behind her coffee one morning.

Eve stops dead in her tracks. Her first response is to laugh; a sarcastic, hollow laugh. She shakes her head, turns to face the woman sitting at her kitchen table. "Do you even know what that means? It's not the same as sleeping together. I mean-- Are you even capable of comprehending that? Love, at all?"

Villanelle's eyes widen, but she doesn't look angry. Thoughtful instead, and she holds Eve's gaze, even as Eve knows that she really didn't have to be so spiteful with her words.

It's not Villanelle's fault that Eve loves her but cannot stand her.

Villanelle shrugs. "I probably don't comprehend how _you_ think love feels, and what it means for you specifically. For me it's different." Her accent is heavy. Eve knows she's choosing her words carefully. "It's probably different for everyone. That does not mean it isn't real. I know what it is when I feel it."

_Like you felt about Anna?_ Eve wants to ask. _Obsession? A right to own them? A right to destroy everything else in their life so that all they're left with is you?_

But she knows what's good for her, so Eve says nothing more. She picks up her bag where she left it on the side table, and runs a hand through her hair. She's got it high in a ponytail today.

Villanelle looks comfortable this morning. Her honey warm hair is long and loose, almost wavy after her shower. Her dressing gown is tied loosely, exposing the top of her pale chest. She's holding the mug in both of her slender hands, and holding Eve's gaze tightly, like something will break if she turns her eyes away.

_She's waiting for something. She's waiting for me._

"Oksana--", Eve begins, but her voice falters.

"I know", Villanelle cuts in, raises her hands in the air. "I'm an asshole. You hate me. But even I know where all your hatred is rooted and that has to do with you, not me." She takes a long sip of her coffee, closes her eyes in satisfaction.

Eve clutches her bag and walks across the room to where Villanelle is sitting. Carefully, she reaches out and runs her fingers over one of Villanelle's hands around the mug.

She can't say it. She can't. She's wished and wished that Villanelle could be capable of something like this, something like love, but now that it's staring her in the face, she can't stomach it. And she can't say it. She simply focuses on the feel of Villanelle's skin under the pads of her fingertips.

They never have peace. It's always the calm before the storm, with Villanelle in the house.

"You should rest while I'm at work", Eve says, sounding almost soothing. Forcing herself to sound soothing, when she really only wants to strangle the other woman for pouring her cold heart out on this otherwise peaceful morning. Eve can't deal with her feelings today, real or not. She needs to go into work and pretend to be looking for someone _other_ than Villanelle, and of course that's Villanelle's fault as well.

The woman in question places her hand over Eve's and squeezes it. "Because I'm so tired from last night?" She smirks.

Eve feels a familiar jolt rush through her, and she knows Villanelle is thinking back to a few hours ago, when she had Eve on her back, gasping and babbling nonsense, Villanelle's slender fingers holding her hips in a deathlike grip, Villanelle's mouth between her legs, driving her insane with her tongue.

_Asshole._

"Well, you know you're not totally fine yet", Eve rambles, cheeks flaming. It's a lie; she has been fine for weeks. Villanelle's smirk widens. "I don't care if it was one of the best surgeons in Paris--" Villanelle pushes her chair back and stands up, "or some back-alley med-school failure who stitched you up--" Villanelle grabs Eve by her belt and pulls her against her, "because I know what I did and that thing I did probably doesn't like it when you rough yourself-- what are you doing?"

Villanelle's mouth hovers directly above Eve's and for a second she actually thinks she's going to kiss her. Then, she hears her belt buckle open, then the button and the zipper--

"I'm late", Eve gasps, because she _can't_. Not in broad daylight. "The bus--"

"Ssh", Villanelle cuts in, her lips so dangerously close to Eve's. One of her hands creeps up to Eve's ponytail and grips it tightly; the other one slips into her panties, without warning, and caresses her there, and Eve blushes ten shades of purple because she's wet, and there has to be something wrong with her--

"See, I think this is worth my recovery being a little slower than it could be", Villanelle jokes, pulls her fingers out of Eve's panties and licks them slowly. Her eyes are pure mischief, and despite Eve's obvious embarrassment, she offers her a taste.

Eve fumes and pushes her away with all her might.

"Asshole", she mutters when storming out the door.

She's halfway out the gate when she remembers her pants are still undone.

 

* * *

 

**X. _Winter._**

 

"Eve, wake up!"

"Hm?"

"Wake up, we have to go now."

Eve sits up so fast her head spins. It's dark, she's groggy, and Villanelle's shaking her awake. She processes the words, then throws the covers off. "What's going on?"

"There's no time, we have to go, now." Villanelle throws Eve a blouse, a pair of jeans, woolen socks, a thick scarf and a pair of boots. She's fully dressed already, and holding Eve's coat.

Eve's mind starts racing; is it The Twelve? Did they find Villanelle? Is the house on fire? She gets dressed quickly, then glances at the nightstand. 3:16 a.m. What the actual-- "I need to get my things, my--"

Villanelle grabs Eve's _hand_ impatiently and pure surprise makes Eve follow her without objections out of the bedroom, down the stairs in the dark, then... to the garden?

"Oksana, what are we--"

Villanelle unlocks the back door and pulls Eve out into the cold night with her.

Eve stops like she's hit a wall.

Villanelle twirls around in the garden, hands outstretched like she's in 'Sound of music', laughs with her whole heart and gestures for Eve to join her. "Look at it!" she shouts and dances around some more. "Is it not beautiful?"

Snow.

Villanelle is rejoicing over _snow_.

"You--", Eve starts, then covers her forehead with her hand. "You woke me up and pulled me out of bed at three in the morning because of _snow?_ "

Villanelle nods, smiling more brightly than Eve's ever seen her do.

"I can't believe you", Eve mumbles and stomps her foot on the snowy ground. "I thought you were in danger, I thought, that, that, that The Twelve had found you, I--"

Eve gets hit with a snowball in her chest. Her jaw drops and she stares at a giggling Villanelle, who's already rolling up another one. "No, don't you dare, Oksana, I swear I'll--"

Villanelle giggles harder, doesn't listen and throws the ball of snow. It hits Eve square in the stomach. Villanelle dances over to her, pats both of her arms and smiles widely, genuinely, and suddenly Eve doesn't have the heart to hate her.

"Just look, okay? It's wonderful."

Eve takes a deep breath, counts to ten, then looks around, past Villanelle.

London is strangely quiet. The air is brisk, fresh, like after a storm. Thick, wet snowflakes are falling from the dark sky, clouds illuminated by artificial light. The snowflakes land on Eve's nose, cheeks, eyelashes. They tingle there for a few moments before they melt, wetting her face.

_The back of her head is wet. The snow embraces her, grounds her. Her gloves are back home, she was in too much of a haste to remember them. The birches around her are like icy Christmas trees, tall and magnificent. She opens her mouth, swallows a few snowflakes, feels so happy to be a kid._

Eve feels the memory of her childhood like a lantern in her chest. She puts her hand there, on her heart that beats despite all that she's been through - all they've been through, and wonders if Villanelle ever had this, if she ever had a proper childhood in Russia, between her mother dying and her father drinking himself into oblivion. She wonders, and wants to ask, then realizes that Villanelle is no longer in front of her, but on the ground, making a snow angel.

Eve's whole body fills with warmth. The lantern lights her from head to toe, and she laughs with Villanelle, laughs with the woman behaving like she's a child again, laughs at the silliness and loveliness of it all.

She wants to ask, but doesn't want to ruin the moment.

"I loved this", Villanelle sighs with closed eyes. She always reads Eve's mind. Her arms are moving slowly next to her body, forming her wings.

Something inside Eve's heart breaks, though it keeps beating; she can't interlace this image with the woman she knows Villanelle has become as an adult. The woman Eve still tries to deny.

She grieves for the young Russian child, Oksana, who loved playing in the snow.

Eve walks over to her, sits down onto her knees, and gently lays Villanelle's head into her lap. The younger woman's hair is like a wet halo, making her glow.

Ethereal.

"It's been almost twenty years since I did this", Villanelle whispers, cranes her neck to look up at Eve, who runs a hand through her blonde tresses.

Eve looks down. Villanelle's eyes are glittering, and for a moment she swears she can see the whole universe in them.

Being so alike and so unlike each other, Eve reminds herself that they share the same world. If they went far enough back in time, they would find that they're made from the same matter, the same small parts of the universe. That is something, regardless of Villanelle's different brain patterns, different morals, different values, that can't be taken away from Eve.

"My ass is getting a bit cold", Villanelle chuckles.

Eve lets her head fall back.

_I love you so._

Dread seeps into her veins. She keeps running her hands through Villanelle's hair to keep her hands from shaking. She knows now, she will not let her go. She will not let someone else end their time together on this earth.

She knows it's coming, one day soon. Villanelle will tell her that she's leaving.

And Eve will go with her.

 

* * *

 

**XI.**

 

On a cold November evening, Eve comes home to find a packed bag by the door and a body on her living room floor. His throat's been cut and Villanelle hasn't bothered to mop up the blood. Eve finds her on the patio in the garden, a large cut on her thigh, blood slowly dripping onto the powdery snow.

"What happened?" she asks as she places a trembling hand on Villanelle's shoulder.

The blonde doesn't look at her, doesn't turn around. She's wringing her hands, like she can't decide what she wants to say, and Eve knows without words. She knows what she's going to say.

"No", Eve gulps, trying not to let panic disarm her. She isn't ready. "Don't."

Villanelle stares up at the winter sky.

"Please", Eve tries, squeezes her shoulder, just to have something real to hold onto. "Oksana. Please. Let's go inside and stitch up your leg."

In her mind's eye, she sees Villanelle like she had seen her this morning: Gulping down black coffee, then cutting the edges of her toast. Rude, and so pretty.

"It's just a flesh wound", Villanelle says without looking at her. There's a beat or two before she clears her throat and speaks. "They know where I am now. I need to disappear for a bit before I can find them."

Eve lets go of her shoulder. There's no doubt in Villanelle's voice; her mind is made up.

_I'm not ready yet._

Villanelle gets up without looking at her, pushes past her into the house. "I'm going to clean this up. Then I will leave. I suggest you do, too. They will send someone else."

Eve wants to comment on the corpse in her living room, but bites her tongue.

So this is how it is. Even if she isn't ready. She breathes in, focuses on the smell of the air, looks at the snow, the way it glistens like glitter powder.

It is beautiful.

Eve leaves the back door unlocked when she goes back inside. She neatly folds her coat and scarf onto a chair, steps out of her boots, rummages through a private drawer, then proceeds upstairs. Her legs are shaking, and she walks slowly. She doesn't look at Villanelle's bag by the door, doesn't want to see the signs of her decision that has absolutely nothing to do with Eve.

Villanelle is in the bedroom, also rummaging through another drawer. Eve stops by the door, takes her in. There's a new tightness to her shoulders, a haste to her movements. She's frowning. Displeased, no doubt. But not enough to change her mind, Eve knows.

"I'm not letting you leave", Eve says quietly. Her stomach churns at the words.

"I would love to see you try and stop me", Villanelle mutters while pulling out something that looks like an electronic pad. She disregards Eve completely. It hurts her, binds her chest tightly.

_Please._

Eve walks over to her, around the bed, and grabs her wrist gently. It stops Villanelle, finally gets her attention, but she looks even more annoyed.

"I'm a bit busy here, Eve."

"You promised." A lame try.

"That was before, when they didn't know where I was." She straightens up and looks right into Eve's eyes with a scrutinizing stare. There's a slight panic there, in Villanelle's eyes. Eve realizes she's truly worried.

Still, she looks ethereal. Eve trembles when she lifts her hands to Villanelle's neck, tilts her chin up, and leans in. Before she closes her eyes, she sees genuine alarm in Villanelle's, and then it's just a warm breath, and lips, and heat.

They've never done this. All the sex, all the raw fucking, and they've never kissed without it.

Villanelle's mouth is warm. It moves under Eve's, opens and lets her in, responds in kind, and Eve moans.

She will never have this again. This will be the only time. She will never have this again, and so she caresses Villanelle's neck and hair, tastes her mouth, cries deep, deep, deep inside.

Villanelle steps back, lets out a gasp, looks flushed for a moment before her mask is back on and she looks anywhere but at Eve, eyes a little wild, and Eve knows that even Villanelle felt something then, something true.

"I can't let you go", Eve tries one more time. One last chance, because then there will be nothing. She will be back in her diary, in agony and alone, and she decided a while ago that no matter what, she was not going to go on in a world where she couldn't chase Villanelle and she wouldn't be able to do that if Villanelle was nothing more than dust that once wreaked havoc across ten countries, across Eve's longing heart.

Villanelle starts to head for the door and Eve pulls out her gun. Villanelle's gun, taken from her apartment. She holds it steadily, right in front of her body, aims it at Villanelle's heart.

Villanelle looks genuinely stunned. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she whispers, staring at the gun, the gun she clearly recognizes.

"You've read everything", Eve responds, and curses her shaking voice. "You read what I went through when, when, when I thought you had died and never found your body. The hell of it, the guilt, the _pain_ , I can't--"

"So you will kill me, so The Twelve won't get me, so you can have a body." Villanelle laughs and moves her eyes from the gun to Eve. "Eve Polastri, you should write a book about logic."

"I won't be writing anything if you walk out that door", Eve cries, and damn her shaking hands. She can do this. She doesn't want to, God knows she doesn't want to, but she can't have The Twelve find her, torture her and mutilate her in some horrible way, not when she's touched her, breathed her, loved her--

Villanelle walks towards her and Eve feels the urge to back up, but she stands her ground, keeps the gun aimed at Villanelle, who walks right up to her, so close that the barrel of the gun presses into her chest, and then pushes forward, makes Eve bend her arm, but the gun stays pointed.

She's only inches from Eve's face. Her slender fingers find her cheek, run over it, slowly and softly.

_I've never done anything like this before._

"You can't", Villanelle whispers, smiling gently, like she understands Eve, understands the anguish. Understands her choice, but doesn't believe in it.

"I can", Eve whispers. She has to. Her finger's on the trigger.

Villanelle looks at her with what Eve thinks is love, looks at her like she's truly seeing her, looks at her like she had looked at her in Paris, right before the inevitable. "You can't", she repeats, and suddenly her eyes are wet. "But _I_ can."

There's a sharp sting, like a quick paper cut, and Eve blinks. Villanelle holds her gaze, eyes shiny. Her jaw is clenched tightly, like she's in pain herself. Then her eyes drop, and Eve follows them.

There's a handle sticking out from Eve's lower abdomen. She doesn't recognize it, but understands that the actual blade is inside her stomach. Her knees wobble, and she grabs Villanelle with her free hand. The blonde embraces her, gun still between them. She hugs her tightly, face against Eve's neck, kisses her there. Eve feels something wet on her neck. Her knees give out, but Villanelle holds her up.

"Now you won't feel any of the things you are so scared of." It is honest and true, and Eve manages a small smile despite the pain in her stomach. Villanelle lets her go and she sags to her knees, grabs the knife with her free hand. Villanelle's fingers touch the hand holding the gun. "I am so sorry." 

Eve takes a shallow breath. "So am I", she gasps, and before Villanelle can go for it, aims the gun back up at her, and fires.

Villanelle flies to the ground hard and screams, presses her hands to her rib cage. She's hit only inches from her earlier wound, and her white t-shirt grows red. Eve watches, tries not to pass out, falls onto her back.

_We're all right. We're going to be all right._

Villanelle is going to die, and Eve can't think straight, so she pulls out the knife, screams in pure agony and clutches her stomach. Blood spurts out, like Villanelle had hit an artery. It feels warm.

Villanelle swears from across the floor and Eve can't help but smile because God, she loves her. She loves her enough to end her life in the hands of someone who would've searched the world for her, not to hurt her, but to protect her.

"You stupid, stupid cunt", Villanelle continues while gasping for air. "You had to be the hero, didn't you? You and your stupid ideas!"

Eve doesn't feel like a hero, but she feels brave. It's nearly the only thing she can feel, next to the pain.

"Are you happy now, Eve?" Villanelle screeches, and slams the floor with her fist. "Fuck you! God, it hurts!"

"I know", Eve whispers. She needs to get to her. She groans as she drags herself towards Villanelle, crawls until she's next to her on the floor, swears at the ridiculousness of the situation, feels shivers cover her body. She's cold. She knows what it means.

"Oksana", she whispers, and seeks the other woman's eyes.

Villanelle turns her head towards Eve. Her eyes are wide, anguished, and so, so wet. Her mask has slipped, and this time she doesn't look angry. She looks scared.

Eve thinks about the girl from Russia. "It's okay", she gasps. "It's okay. It was always going to end like this anyway. It's done now." It makes sense, in all of its insanity. They had chased each other, and in the end, got each other in every possible way.

Villanelle is inconsolable. "We had fun. How did we get here?"

Eve's heart aches worse than everything else in her body. "We were always going to end up here, ever since that stupid toilet at the hospital." She coughs and turns onto her side, clutching the gaping wound. At least Villanelle hadn't twisted the knife. "You and my fucking _hair_."

Villanelle smiles, turns to look at her, reaches out with a bloody and trembling hand to touch some of Eve's dark strands. Then she tugs, hard. "I really liked you", she grunts and lets go of Eve's hair. "Once wasn't enough, huh? You just had to get me." 

Eve gazes into her eyes. Her vision is cloudy, but she can still make out Villanelle's eyes. "I really loved you", she whispers, feels a little warmth in her cold and stiff body. "You asshole."

Villanelle grins, then coughs violently, and there's blood at the corner of her mouth, high on her shirt. "Oh, shit", she gasps, and presses harder against her wound. Eve knows that it's useless.

"I would have followed you", Eve mumbles, tries to focus on Villanelle and not the blood in her lap. She's so cold.

"It had to be you, didn't it", Villanelle gasps. Her words are so strained. Her face is wet. She starts taking really quick and shallow breaths. "I guess it's better that it was you and not them but I am so mad at you, Eve Polastri." She chuckles darkly, then coughs some more.

"Yes", Eve says. 

Villanelle's breaths quiet down. Eve sees her in the snow, in Moscow, in her kitchen, in the woods, in her bed. She sees her like a movie reel, until Villanelle is quiet and cold beside her.

Eve keeps staring at Villanelle, but she can't see her anymore. Her vision is growing dark, and for a moment, she imagines that they are not on the bedroom floor, but in the garden, in spring. Villanelle smells like a sea breeze. There's a blackbird on the roof, and somewhere police sirens are howling, but she pays them no mind. They grow louder, but Eve decides she doesn't want them in her fantasy, and she rolls her body into Villanelle's side, breathes her in, follows her into the unknown. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a wonderful ride to write. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed building it. Leave your thoughts if you want to. Merci.


End file.
